They bowed their heads. It was quiet now; and if God were to be with his very burdened servant Manfred Freiherr von Richthofen it would be a splendid act of grace.
The next day, amid the presents, Doris brought her daughter to see him. "Uncle Manfred, I want something special," Carmen said, while her mother looked on in some turmoil.
"What is it, Carmen? You have a pony."
"I want to learn to fly."
He looked up into Doris's eyes. "I tried to talk her out of it," Doris said. "Her father -- and you too. It's not a ladylike thing to do."
"Yes it is!" Carmen said. "The Frau Amelia, she said I could do it too, I could fly! And all the boys fly!"
"Not my Manfred," Manfred said, "His eyes --" and he sighed, thinking of the astigmatism that would keep his older son out of a cockpit.
"My brother, you promised him the flying lessons this coming summer. And young Lothar, and cousin Manfred, yes, you promised all of them. And even young Manfred, he likes to be flown, and you fly him all the time. So Uncle, please, please, please!!!"
She looked heart-rending as she begged, standing there in her nice new Christmas dress, her big blue eyes shining with tears.
"That jacket's far too big for you."
They stood outside the hangar at the Schweidnitz airport. Even there, police guarded the building, lest some fanatic decide to make his mark on the Herr Reichskanzler. If anyone noticed that the little fellow in the big baggy jacket had hair running down inside "his" collar, they were too polite to mention it.
"Frau Amelia gave it to me." And Earhart's flight jacket did indeed swallow up Carmen, but evidently she wanted to be like her other hero. Certainly she was dressed like her.
"Now, Carmen, I am not certified as a flying teacher. In order to learn properly you will have to go to someone who has certification and experience. All I can do you is show you how these things work."
They went on inside the hangar, and as Manfred nodded to and greeted the guards, the mechanics, and the like he went on, "You have to learn to check your engine." It never hurt to get the good habits fixed in place from the start. They walked around the Arado and headed towards the Ju-60 he would fly today.
After explaining to her all the relevant parts ("It takes a real mechanic to keep these in tip-top shape, so you will have to become very friendly with yours. Not that friendly.") she got into the cockpit. Manfred waved at the ground crew, who rolled back the doors, and then he got in and checked her seat belts before strapping himself in.
He fired up the engine ("Back during the War your father and I had to have these turned over by hand.") and taxied out of the hangar to the end of the runway. They waited for a release from the tower, and he took the opportunity to let her know more. "Another advance in equipment," he said. "Be careful not to hold down the radio button when you want to talk on the intercom, or you'll confuse the ground controllers. This is Richthofen, ready for takeoff."
He put power to the engine and they rolled down the runway. He caught a glimpse of her from the corner of one eye as the plane became unstuck, making that familiar tug on the stomach. She was smiling. Come to think of it, Frau Earhart had looked like that after she got out of her airplane . . .
That was an unnecessary distraction and he paid attention to the controls. They flew in a circle around the city. Once he got well clear of the pattern around the airport he said to her, "Hold the controls for a moment. The pedals make you turn left and right, pull back on the wheel a little -- only a little, please! -- to climb. There, now let me take over."
Then they got into the landing pattern, and he had yet another reminder as he lined up with the runway. "Remember, Carmen, your father was taken from us when he hit a power line," he said, the memory paining him. "You must be very careful of your landings, though there will be times when you cannot be."
"Frau Andra told me," she said, sadly, "She remembers, Daddy sacrificed himself for her. Oh, there's someone waiting for us."
Manfred touched down, brought the plane to a stop, then taxied back towards the hangar, looking for the guest. "You have good eyes. Oh it's him. Do you remember Herr Rickenbacker, the American? He's early, I see."
"A little. Did you really fight him in the War?"
"Afraid so. He was too good for me. Fortunately, I was too good for him." He killed the engine and let the ground crew put in the chocks before opening the door. "Always be sure of your propellor. I've seen too many men -- Hello, Eddie! Here early, I see."
Rickenbacker was standing clear, he had seen too many men run into propellors, too. "Hello, Manfred. Who's the little lady?"
"My niece Carmen, Lothar's daughter. You know, she saw you coming, she must have good vision. Carmen, say hello to Herr Oberst Rickenbacker."
"Hello."
She slid out of the door and walked back along the length of the plane, away from the propellor. Rickenbacker looked her over and said, "Looks like you people are breeding another Amelia Earhart."
"Herr Putnam, I am glad that you and Amelia can join us for the New Year," Manfred said. "I know it meant postponing this trip to Hawaii for the flight across the Pacific. Udet has lined up our technical people and he and I will give you all the advice we can."
It was Sunday, after church, and the Rickenbacker boys were already out riding with the younger Richthofens. They themselves were walking from the Gnadenskirche, surrounded by policemen -- it was too close really to drive, and even though the SA and the Rotfront were staying in for the day there was still the concern about some lone madman, like that crazy Dutchman who had come to the Reich last year to kill him and had ranted in court about Communism before they gave him a stretch of fifteen years.
Putnam was equally pleased. "Baron von Richthofen, I'm pleased to inform you that your book of essays, The Red Baron on Flight, is selling very well. We will probably need to order another printing by this coming February," he informed this author.
Who felt overwhelmed by yet another tall man. Putnam had "made" a number of celebrities, with quick books following up their dramatic exploits. He had jumped on the Richthofen boom and issued the English translation of Der rote Kampffleiger, and now as they went along like Max and Moritz, he pushed for a new work from this hot topic.
"Fine, but will you reissue The Red Air-Flyer? That man's biography . . ." he shook his head.
"If you called it Fighting the Hat-in-the-Ring Squadron we could sell sets," Rickenbacker interjected cheerfully. "Rickenbacker and Richthofen, both sides of the War."
He could see the light in Putnam's eyes at that idea. Boxed sets for $5, bound in leather $15, autographed $150, reserve your copy now . . . "Have your people talk to Bolko. He handles financial things for me."
"You're even a big name in America, Baron," Putnam went on. "When President Roosevelt named Rick here to settle the air mail problem, he said as much. 'Colonel Rickenbacker was recommended by the German Chancellor, and a man who gets endorsements from his enemies has to be suited to the task of sorting out such a quarrel,' he said."
Rickenbacker said, "It was the 'Colonel' bit that got me. I was going to resign my commission in protest over that decision -- even had the letter drafted. Once the President put me in as mediator, I couldn't go through with it." He shook his head. "Putting those air corps boy pilots on the air mail routes was murder, sheer murder. I can see why he did it, but still . . ."
"No, Manfred here is right," Earhart said. "You were the best choice, you were one of them for both of them. They all respected you." She turned to look at Manfred. "Just like him, you know."
She sighed a little. "Paul Mantz tells me the weather is not so good in Hawaii. Imagine that. So perhaps this delay is working for the best."
"Honolulu to Washington, by way of Oakland?" Manfred said. "That is your route?"
"No, I'm just going to fly around the islands. That's what the official statement is and I'm sticking to it."
"And we all know what they say about official statements," Rickenbacker said.
"Well, we'll have a good time in Berlin next week."
"I see you got rid of that stupid high collar," Rickenbacker said.
Yes, the new uniform looked good, blue and just a few touches of other materials.
Manfred said, "This we have to keep up to date."
"Well, it helps that he kept his shape," Earhart said.
They were standing in a closed-off room of one of the hangars at Tempelhof. That Monday, the first of the new year, the airport in Berlin was now filled with official and semi-official representatives. They were taking advantage of one of those concessions the British and French had allowed, and were going to make it very public. If everyone saw that Germany now had an Air Force, perhaps no one would really notice that they didn't really have an army. Right now, thousands of new recruits were milling around the barracks, getting used to their new conditions (though there were a number of Labor Service veternans, who were learning that they still couldn't put down their shovels). A distraction was accordingly in order.
Noske, Milch, and Udet were in another such office, making their final preparations, and the pilots and ground crew of the new JG 1 of the Reichsluftstreitkräfte were in one of the hangars, ready to march out. Meanwhile, the Reichkanzler spoke with his special guests
Earhart went on, "And so plain! I thought every German general had to have enough gold braid and red patches to blind anyone watching. Even I couldn't dress like that. Would Adelaide?"
"No she wouldn't. Wait a minute," Rickenbacker said. Then he leaned forward, looked at the shoulder straps, and went on, "Back during the War, they had a guide on German rank insignia and I was stuck on a train one day . . . Amelia, he's only a Major, he's only wearing that insignia."
Manfred twitched his shoulders and let the tunic settle. "Ernst sent me a general's insignia, but this is the rank I earned by my own efforts. Anyway, aren't all those South American presidents generals with lots of medals they give themselves?"
"He has the medals, anyhow. With two such brave men to watch over me how can I not be safe," Earhart said, and ineptly mimed being a helpless weak woman. But then she sighed. "It's all such a waste."
Unimpressed by her acting, Manfred said, "It's time, you two join your loving spouses in the spectator stands, and I have to meet with my high command."
But the high command was escorted. Milch was surrounded by a cloud of men, some in the new uniform, some in the old, and one in the Navy's.
"Daddy!" Manfred said to the one man in naval uniform. "Back in your old service?"
Korvettenkapitan (formerly Oberleutnant zur See, but promotion came to them all) Theodor "Daddy" Osterkamp, thirty-two victories, knight of the Order Pour le Mérite, and a veteran of the war against the Bolsheviks as well, saluted gravely. "What there is of it; I have charge of the reconnaissance planes on our Panzerschiffe, and on the shore. But the Herr Reichswehr Minister Noske tells me we will eventually have an anti-ship squadron," he said, proudly.
"The Americans and British have these plane-operating ships. You should have talked to Herr Rickenbacker, maybe after the ceremony. He told me about their Herr General Mitchell. Or come to think of it, I believe Herr Collishaw actually does command such planes. He should have a lot to talk about with you.
"And here's everyone else -- Jacobs, Loerzer, good to see you. Veltjens! Will we be seeing the old barbed arrow flying again? Ritter von Schleich, your King spoke very well of you . . ." Manfred circulated among the old pilots, congratulating, dropping comments about the good old days (and the ones that hadn't been so good), and making small talk.
"Where's Menckhoff?" someone asked.
Milch said with a sigh. "Still in Switzerland. After that escape from the prisoner of war camp, he seems to have taken to the place."
"Maybe he likes yodeling," Osterkamp said.
"Well, except for him and Ernst, I guess these are the top dozen of our surviving aces," Manfred said.
"Well, we do have to count you," Schleich said.
Manfred said in English, "The Black Knight and the Red Baron," and then, "It sounds like we should be riding with Götz von Berlichingen!"
"And we can tell the Bolsheviks to kiss our asses!" Osterkamp shot back.
"Time, Herren, Herr Reichskanzler, time!" Milch said. "We must go out to meet the new pilots."
Udet was the one wearing a general's insignia. As the new Commander-in-Chief of the Reichsluftstreitkräfte he was entitled. While the long speeches in which Milch, as Air Minister, handed the organization over to Noske, as Reichswehr Minister, droned on, Manfred wondered idly about what would have happened if Brüning had hung on to power, and named him commander of the air force. Or if he had taken Papen's original offer . . .
Admittedly, it made an impressive sight; the heroes of the old air force handing over, so to speak, to the new. If only they had been able to go to Aschaffenberg, completing the circle -- but the French might have raised an even bigger stink. M. François-Poncet had indicated that his government definitely disapproved of this new development. After Barthou had been assassinated, which he hoped would not become a customary means of change of government -- what had happened to Rathenau still disgusted him -- the new French Foreign Minister, M. Laval, who had already been Foreign Minister once before and probably would soon be so again, had apparently ordered a new toughening of policy.
Britain was friendlier. Lord Trenchard headed a delegation of English pilots and other notables, including Osterkamp's opposite number, Wing Commander Raymond Collishaw [formerly Royal Naval Air Service], sixty-two kills (not counting eight balloons), and still serving, unlike Billy Bishop, who was back in Canada. They stood alongside Eddie and Adelaide and Amelia and George and some other Americans, including their attache Herr Major Smith. But not one Frenchman was among the spectators.
". . . Minister Milch, General Udet, Reichskanzler Richthofen, I accept the new Reichsluftstreitkräfte on behalf of the people of the German Reich. May it ever defend the right and the honor of the German people," Noske said.
The pilots applauded and then Udet stepped to the podium. "Herren Ministers, distinguished guests, fellow pilots. And our very own Richthofen, who falls in all three of those categories.
"Our government has been working on the principle of combining the best of the old traditions with the best of the new ways. Since we work within limits, we have to work harder.
"So we won't have a blustering air force, like some people whose names I could mention would do. Instead, we will have a good air force, one that will keep the peace by making our country hard to attack. In the War, we defended the Reich; now in peace we will still defend the Reich."
He went on like that for a while, stressing the traditions and advocating the new. Two or three nervous functionaries from his office had gone over the text, trying to eliminate anything reminiscent of the old Kaiser, the merciless Hun, and so on. Manfred had already braced himself for yet another visit from the French Ambassador, and so he was out of position for . . .
"Therefore, to restore the spirit of the days when we were the finest fighting team ever, I am pleased to announce the remobilization of the Jagdgeschwader Nr. I 'Manfred Frhr. v. Richthofen', under the command of its own veteran, Major Wolfram, Freiherr von Richthofen. May our first fighter team honor the name of the hero it bears!" Udet said, smiling broadly.
Manfred shot to his feet. This was too much. He opened his mouth to protest -- to be overwhelmed by the cheering of the pilots. The cheering redoubled when Udet picked up something from the podium -- a plaque with a shield on it bearing a script "R". That, he realized, must be the new unit insignia. This was proved a moment later when the ground crew began pushing one of the Arados out of a hangar. It had that shield painted on it. And, of course, it was red all over.
Udet started waving for silence. It took a few minutes; everyone was far too wound up to stop on a pfennig. But when the cheering died down enough, he said, "Herr Reichskanzler, will you do us the honor of flying the first flight of our new air
force?"
About ten minutes later, he was striding across the pavement, wearing a proper flying suit. They had had the whole thing planned out, evidently, down to having an outfit he could wear on hand. He bravely smiled for the crowd, let them help him into the cockpit, and let a man turn the propellor. The engine started with a roar.
Old reflexes kicked in. This plane had real guns, even if the ammunition wasn't loaded. He could see Englishmen out there towards the sunset. One hand on the throttle, feed the fuel to the engine . . . the flight controller waved his flag and he taxied to the position, then, off we go!
He made only a couple of loops around the airport. No need to further disrupt the air traffic. But on that glorious day, he was the best pilot anyone ever saw. However, the best pilot anyone ever saw had to also keep the country out of the hands of its enemies, and so with a sigh of regret he brought the airplane in for a landing.
They swarmed around it then, pushing him towards the hangar, pilots, ground crew, the old veterans leading the way. It made quite a spectacle. He shouted, "Stop, Stop," when they got close to the hangar, and by some peremptory, imperious waving managed to get a space cleared. Everyone fell respectfully silent; someone brought a ladder, propped it against the airplane, and he started to get out when it happened.
The sudden sound broke the stillness. (No regular flights were occurring then, and the hubbub of ground traffic was dulled by distance and a press of bodies.) It was the howl of a dog, standing on the roof of his doghouse, ululating wildly, raucously, noisily. And it caught the one man really moving off guard, off balance. Manfred felt the ladder toppling, he had pushed it when he twitched at the sound of the dog howling, he grabbed desperately at the air, fell hard across the rim of the cockpit, toppled forward, thank God into the cockpit, and landed head first in the seat, his legs flailing wildly in the air.
A Man and a Plane: An Alternate Germany Page 29